surreal poetry

Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.

Walking On Water
Why is your head down Look up Why are you drowning Do you not know who you are Relax You have everything you need Walk to me
By JasperRei TheArtist3 years ago in Poets
Company of poems
If 'poetry' could take selfies I might be the one with most. if poetry could walk hand in hand I would have hurt my feet and legs.
By Gagan K3 years ago in Poets
Acherontia styx
Passing porch-light where grey love-moths flutter to each other how each lover's Love is like the Sun (stare too long into its face and you'll go blind)
By Halston Williams3 years ago in Poets
GötterdämmerRap
Everywhere I go, people're glued to their screens If they could they'd fuse a smartphone into their genes. Visions of Huxley & Bradbury dance in my head
By Halston Williams3 years ago in Poets
After the Phaedrus
I think of days long ago —when we sat under trees in an old cemetery ( or was it by the banks of Illissus? ) where shade and stones cooled our bodies
By Halston Williams3 years ago in Poets
Up All Night
Up all night Nymphette pixies Flickering in candlelight In Dublin's fair city Where the girls are so pretty Bright nightsweat
By Halston Williams3 years ago in Poets
The Scholarship Has Sailed
Oh, that wishing-it-were-otherwise-woe is mine! No opportune windows ever open after closing-time. No more pretty-pleasing rhyming schemes now please.
By Halston Williams3 years ago in Poets
Labors of the Wandering Love-Lost
What were we wine-ing of Last Johannes Nacht? (or was it St. Stephen’s Daeg?) When the Poldy cactus was in Bloom And we turned Heaven Upside Down
By Halston Williams3 years ago in Poets
Norns
Things on my ceiling: The biggest damn spyder-wights I've seen in all my life And a beautiful black butterfly, wings delicately folded, dead-asleep.
By Halston Williams3 years ago in Poets
Faeryring
Chimes tinkling. Faerymusic. Harmless winsome windchime bells (cobwebbed) hanging by a thread, borne by the winds. Boading no ill-omen nor intent. Faery (moth) wings breathblown whispering neither good nor bad intent, nither sad nor happy thoughts. Bereft of intention.
By Halston Williams3 years ago in Poets
moonlight in solitude
Atop the crescent illumination I maintain the power of birds To disappear with the sky with ration In solitude I can be unheard
By Mona Yonus3 years ago in Poets
My Shattered love
Not even a single word is enough to describe my love for you... You were the best thing happened to me You made me to feel like a queen
By Hemavathi Jambulingam3 years ago in Poets